


Square Up

by Nolesr1



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: A good TV show, Alfred's a shit, All souls to good home, Alpha Arthur, Alpha Yao, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Arthur's a punk, France is a good father, Gen, Gilbert's also a punk, I feel like these 4 would work, It would be funny, Language, M/M, Multi, Not enough for a major warning, One here, One there, One with them, Poly relationships are good for soulmates, Polyamory, Relationships all over the place, There is language, They'd work individually at least, Yao's a good student, all of them - Freeform, alpha gilbert, but beware, everywhere, omega alfred, spectator soulmates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:15:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nolesr1/pseuds/Nolesr1
Summary: The soul finds it mates on a spiritual level, not bound by distance or borders. At the age of 7, the soul finds it mates and sees them, though no one else can. The journey for a soulmate can be rough: some can see their soulmates, some cannot.This dilemma follows Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao when they each find the young boy with blue eyes and a crooked smile. They watch him as he grows, though he cannot see them. They watch how he matures, how he excels, how he fails; though they advance in their own lives, it is the youngest of them that they hope to protect.Through all of this, though, the three learn a very important lesson about the youngest of them: Alfred is a little shit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quite literally the idea behind this story, behind this idea of soulmates, comes from that Netflix series (THAT IS GETTING A SERIES FINALE, THANK EVERY DEITY) Sense8: However, for these 4 at least, there will be a more than platonic relationship between these soulmates. Not to mention that I can remember reading somewhere that it makes sense that soulmates can be 1 or 2 or 3 or whatever a person wants it to as long as it is consensual. 
> 
> I also realize that I need to finish another soulmate AU and I plan on doing that. I'm probably going to take the one currently up, down and replace it with this one for now. 
> 
> If anyone has questions that they would like answered, please don't hesitate to ask! 
> 
> Also, warning: there are probably going to be A LOT of mistakes in this. So, if you see one please let me know so that I can go in and fix it!

The idea behind the whole soulmate bond... _thing_ was that no matter how far away soulmates were, they could still find one another. However, this was not because of some innate sense of where they were, but because of one’s ability to appear—more often than not at random—wherever one’s soulmate was, no matter the distance. So, when eleven-year-old Gilbert found himself in a heavily wooded area one day that looked like absolutely nothing he’d ever seen before, especially in the forests of his home in Germany, Gilbert realized that his life was about to change for the third time.

Glancing from left to right, Gilbert searched in vain for a boy or girl; Alpha, Beta, or Omega. As he continued his search, his desperation grew. With nothing to show for his searching, his brow furrowed, confusion becoming the predominate emotion, easily eclipsing his earlier excitement. About ready to give up, Gilbert turned and moved to walk away from the lightly forested area, fixing to walk as deeply into the forest as the soulmate bond would allow. As he stood on the edge of a clearing, Gilbert suddenly heard a low grunt, followed by a small whine. Glancing back and up, Gilbert noticed for the first time the figure of a small boy—smaller even than Gilbert’s five-year-old brother—dressed in a large pair of trousers rolled up to his knees and a light blue shirt that was much too large for the small boy’s frame.

As Gilbert continued to watch, the child appeared to be trying to pull himself up on a branch, his feet scrambling to find a purchase against the large tree’s trunk while his hands held firm to a moldy old branch that he hung from. From his angle, Gilbert curiously studied the small tongue that peaked out between partially parted lips as the boy tried to pull himself up. He observed the show with amusement, trying hard to bite back a snicker, especially at each effort of the boy’s to pull himself up by his twiggy arms. Despite his amusement, Gilbert found himself stepping forward to help as the his grip faltered, nearly sending him sprawling to the ground. After righting himself with a small whine, the boy studies the branch with a hint of determination and a look of pure defiance. Gilbert watched as he slowly began to swing himself forward again and again, gaining more momentum with each swing. After many misses and near victories, the boy finally managed to gain enough momentum that with the final swing, he was able to successfully hook his ankle against the edges of the branch, anchoring his weight on that one foot and managing to swing his other leg around, hooking the leg at the knee over the rough branch.

The child gives a victorious cry as he used his hooked knee to anchor his position so that he could swing his tenuous ankle grip over the branch, catching at the knee. He then had two firm anchors on the branch and used those to swing his body up onto the limb. With a delighted laugh, the boy perched himself atop the moldy branch, one leg dangling over the edge as he slowly dragged himself across, closing in on the tree trunk. With a self-satisfied grin, the kid turned and settled himself against the trunk, both legs dangling over the side as his hands firmly gripped the branch between his legs.

Despite the shadows that surrounded them, cast by the overcast sky and the cover of treetops, Gilbert noticed that the boy has a mop of curly hair, though he couldn’t quite get the exact color, and tangled in the hair were leaves and twigs, his face darkened by both dirt and tree sap, making him look more like a mischievous forest spirit than a boy. His oversized shirt, which had taken quite a beating in the climb, sat lopsided, revealing a portion of his shoulder where Gilbert could see a small black **Ω** symbol.

Pleased by the younger boy’s success, Gilbert began clapping, not sure if the other boy could hear or see him but wanting to throw in his support despite himself. The boy, though, certainly heard him: he gave a startled gasp and nearly took another tumble to the ground. Fortunately for both, his grip on the branch remained firm, though he still looked both extremely wary and uncomfortable by the sudden presence of another person, even another child.

After a tense silence, wherein the two continued to stare each other down, the boy’s head tilted curiously to the side, causing a mess of hair to fall into his face. He impatiently shoved it out of his visage, no doubt spreading even more dirt and sap into his hair. Open curiosity replaced wariness and Gilbert allowed himself a slow advance forward until he stood beside the large tree. Gilbert carefully placed his palm against the rough trunk before looking back up at the boy. He was close enough now that he could see bloodied cuts and scrapes on the boy’s swinging feet and open palms. Gilbert stared up as the boy stared down.

Finally, the smaller boy spoke,

“Hiya!” he chirped with a wave, his sap-sticky and bloodied hands more visible to Gilbert. “My name’s Alfred! Who’re? When did’ya get here? Where were ya hidin before? Are you real? Are you a forest spirit? Mama Ollie told me that the forests are old a-and if ya leave the ghosts alone, they’ll leave you alone. Papa and Mama Essie don’t believe her. Are you a nice ghost? D’ya wanna play?”

Gilbert’s mind scrambled to understand the ~~boy~~ — _Alfred’s_ —train of thought. It was hard, both because Alfred had spoken much too fast and his accent made the words that much stranger. Glancing up, Gilbert caught Alfred’s curious stare and replied with a calmer,

“Hello, my name’s Gilbert.”

“Ya talk funny,” Alfred answered frankly and Gilbert figured that the statement was more a commentary and not an insult. Alfred’s impish smile added to Gilbert’s assessment. “Where’re you from? I was born in Loo-Louis-Loosianna but then we moved here when I got real sick ‘cause the doctor said it’d be better. your eyes are cool. Are you a ghost? ‘Cause you kinda look like one. My mama said that the forests here prob’ly have ghosts ‘cause it’s so old and stuff but my Papa and Mama Essie say that’s silly and—“

Before Alfred could finish, there was an ominous creak and groan and the branch—softened by weeks with nary a pause in the rainfall, the colder than average weather, and overall age—finally gave, sending a surprised Alfred tumbling to the ground.

The distance between the branch and the ground was, honestly, not that far: maybe two or three meters high and Gilbert could count on both hands falling from a far longer distance. But Alfred was already so _small_ , and the branch hit the ground with such a hard _thud_ , and Alfred didn’t appear to be _moving_ and just when Gilbert stepped forward, very worried by this point, Alfred began groaning.

Relieved, Gilbert dropped to his knees just as Alfred rolled over onto his stomach, pushing himself to his elbows and then to his knees, one arm wrapped tightly around his stomach. Before Gilbert could demand an answer from his new friend, Alfred began coughing: a low, guttural, gasping cough that seemed to rattle in his chest, drawn from his very bones. The coughs were strong enough that Alfred nearly doubled over, shaking with the taxing effort of coughing.

Gilbert hadn’t the slightest idea what to do, but Alfred stumbled to his feet, tripping over himself as he made his way to the tree trunk. He leaned against it with one hand while the other covered his mouth as the pained sounding coughs continued.

“Alfred—“ Gilbert began, worried beyond belief, though knowing absolutely nothing of what was going on. Before Gilbert could continue a loud, masculine call cut through the densely wooded area.

“Alfred!”

Both boys jumped at the sound. Gilbert watched as a tall man with blond hair pulled back in a bun stumbled through the heavy underbrush, eyes wide before softening in relief and then pinching in concern when they landed on the doubled over form of Alfred. As the man pushed forward, Gilbert fell backwards. Alfred stepped forward, still coughing, his arms outstretched to the man who then lifted Alfred into his arms with ease, hugging him against his shoulder and soothingly patting his back. Alfred gripped the material of the man’s shirt tightly, face buried in his shoulder.

“It’s alright,” the man hummed, his accent much different than Alfred’s. He began to quietly hum a tune, still rubbing Alfred’s back as he alternated between hopping lightly and swaying. Eventually the coughing teetered out, leaving silence in its wake. In the silence, a shudder ran up Alfred’s spine. In response, the man began rubbing Alfred’s back, still swaying.

A moment passed and Gilbert stood at the edge of the odd display, watching the interaction with a wistful gaze.

Eventually, the man stopped bouncing, stopped patting Alfred’s back and slowly made to pull Alfred away, earning a small whimper as the boy clutched the man’s shirt, burying himself as deeply as possible into the man’s shoulder.

The man gave up the notion of removing Alfred from his person and settled with ‘tsk’ing. “Honestly, Alfred,” the man muttered softly, a sigh escaping as he turned and nuzzled Alfred’s hair. “ _Mon Dieu, mon fils_ , what were you thinking, coming out here? It is far too cold for you to be out here, especially as you are still recovering.”

“The rain finally stopped, Papa!” Alfred argued weakly, clutching his father closer, face still buried against his Father so that the already weak rebuff was muffled. Alfred shuddered and his father sighed, hugging him closer. The two turned and began walking away, back to the tree line of the clearing. Gilbert hesitated, not sure if he should stay put or follow, before finally decided on staying put. As the two disappeared into the woodlands, the shattered pieces of the fallen branch scattered underfoot.

Gilbert blinked…

…and suddenly he found himself in the center of his room, the familiar knickknacks and toys scattered all over the floor.

That was the first time Gilbert had met his youngest soulmate.

* * *

 

The second time he met Alfred, Gilbert was not alone: standing next to Gilbert was another fifteen-year-old, one Gilbert knew well: bright green eyes, thick eyebrows with familiar piercings, and a perpetually unamused scowl. His torn and abused shirt revealed a large, black **A** along his shoulder, much like Gilbert’s.

The boy’s green eyes were blazing, fury evident on his face, his hands clenched tightly into fists. Gilbert could sympathize because he could feel his own fury kindling in his chest, growing larger and larger until he felt a sharp pain in his palms. When he chanced a look at his clenched fists, he saw bright red half-moons from his nails staring back at him.

He couldn’t speak for Arthur, but Gilbert’s fury had sprung from a fight that had been more or less ongoing since the day Gilbert’s scent had settled: ‘find a good mate,’ his father would always snap, her blue eyes blazing. ‘Find a good mate, get a good job, do something useful with your life and for the love of God stop acting like the world owes you something.’ The same fight, again and again, until the only common thread is the implicit message of, ‘why are you such lazy child? Such wasted potential!’

Gilbert huffed, clenching his jaw and wanting to throw a punch. He lifted his gaze, studying Arthur, wondering if he could get away with it, when he heard a delighted squeal, drawing both males out of their own boiling fury. They turned their gaze and took in the sight of a completely foreign room, much smaller than either of their rooms back home. The room was painted a light blue, the floor crowded with books and toys, clothes piled neatly in a corner, and board games strewn about. Outside, the two watched as a streak of lightning danced across the black sky, followed seconds later by a slow peal of thunder.

Seated on the bed, positioned on the far side of the room, sat three figures ~~—~~ one small figure and two very small figures. Gilbert recognized Alfred immediately, noting the slight differences in appearance from when he had last seen him: his hair was a smidge longer, curls a fair bit lighter. He looked a little taller, and, most importantly, he was holding court to two small humans that neither had ever seen before. Alfred sat with one leg curled under him, the other dangling over the edge, flat against the carpeted floor; the two smaller ones ~~—~~ a little girl with curly dark brown hair, light brown skin, and large brown eyes sat cross-legged, whereas her neighbor ~~—~~ another small boy that looked like that seven year-old Alfred that Gilbert had seen, but with lighter colored hair and large dark blue, almost purple eyes ~~\--~~ sat on his knees, leaning forward on his knuckles and studying Alfred’s hands with rapt attention.

“What’s going on?” Arthur demanded, directing his question to Alfred who didn’t even look up at the sound. Arthur tried again, “Oi! Can you hear me? Why are we here? What are you playing with?” Alfred still wouldn’t looked up. Arthur threw his arms up in exasperation. “ _You_ ask him, then,” he grumbled, directing his statement at Gilbert as he stomped forward to the edge of the bed and flopped down with his back against said bed, arms crossed and resting against his drawn-up knees. 

Gilbert cleared his throat, “Err… Alfred?” There was no response, even as Arthur leaned his head against Alfred’s dangling leg. Gilbert tried again, a little louder, “Alfred!”

There was still no response to Gilbert’s call, so said boy sighed and followed Arthur’s lead. However, instead of leaning against the bed, Gilbert decided to crawl onto the bed and lean his back against Alfred’s, disappointed when he felt nothing but the cool brush of air.

Suddenly, Gilbert heard a high-pitched squeal, one oh-so delighted that caused Arthur to turn and lean forward to see what elicited the noise and Gilbert to crane his neck so that he could see over Alfred’s shoulder.

To their mutual amusement, both spotted the colorful squares of a cube, cradled in the palm of Alfred’s hand as he continued to twist and spin the Rubik’s Cube. The delighted squeal had apparently been drawn when Alfred had almost perfectly matched each side with the right color. After another moment, the colors finally all matched up and Alfred cradled the Cube in one hand as he showed the two children his achievement. The little boy leaned forward, his hands resting against Alfred’s thigh, his dark blue eyes amazed.

“Wow, Alfred!” The little boy gasped as the little girl studied the Cube with wide-eyed wonder. Gilbert noted that the boy’s voice was much more subdued than Alfred’s had been at that age, though his excitement was still evident. “How’d you do that? That was so cool!”

Alfred grinned as he shrugged, still fidgeting with the Cube, “It’s all a learned skill, Mattie,” Alfred told them, his voice a little deeper than when Gilbert had last heard it, though still high. “I can teach you’an Lana the trick as soon as I master it’n stuff,” Alfred drawled with a delighted grin as he began scrambling the colored tiles again. Mattie and Lana leaned in more, watching the show with rapt attention. Arthur and Gilbert also found themselves leaning in closer as well, trying to get a good view of the mechanics of the game.

“That’s really cool,” Arthur commented after a while, though Alfred didn’t look up to this either. Arthur huffed and turned to scowl at Gilbert. “Can he not hear us? The hell is going on? He shoulda at least made some reaction ‘stead of sittin there like a plonker when we called.”

“He could hear me the last time I saw him,” Gilbert commented as yet another squeal of delight sprang from both Mattie and Lana. “He talked to me and everything.”

“Same here,” Arthur replied as he twisted his body so that he could lean an arm against the edge of the bed and then cushion his chin on said arm. “What happened the last time ya saw him?”

“He was climbing a tree and then he started coughing…” Gilbert grimaced as soon as the memory came to the forefront. “Said he’d been really sick, so he and his family had to move.”

“Good,” Arthur muttered as he watched the game unfold in front of him. This time Alfred had managed to match all the colored tiles in less time than before, earning him even more delighted shouts from the two visible occupants. “Last time I saw him… well, let’s just say that anything woulda been an improvement.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really, no.”

Annoyed by the response, Gilbert returned his attention to the game at hand and the two continued to watch the show for an unknown amount of time. There was something indescribably comforting in watching as the tiles fell into place, the slow click of the Cube with each turn, and then the delighted cries of Alfred’s younger… siblings, perhaps? Eventually the little girl, Lana, snatched the Cube out of Alfred’s hands and began trying to spin it herself. The four spectators watched with growing amusement as she continuously spun and spun each side. Eventually, she managed to match the tiles almost perfectly… except for one color. She huffed out a frustrated sigh and pouted up at Alfred.

“It’s broken,” she declared as she all but shoved the Cube under Alfred’s nose. “Fix it.”

Alfred, who had his elbow balanced on his knee and was resting his cheek against the palm of his hand, didn’t reach for the Cube, didn’t even blink. “There’s a word I think you’re lookin for,” Alfred drawled, an amused smirk lighting his face. “Any idea what it might be?”

Arthur, Gilbert, and Mattie watched, the former two in amusement the latter in confusion, as Lana and Alfred stared one another down in a silent battle of wills. Finally, though, after a moment, Lana dropped her gaze, ducked her head and stretched out her arms, both of her small hands cradling the Cube. She looked at Alfred from beneath her dark fringe, pout visible. “Please fix it, Alfred,” she asked in a far nicer tone.

Alfred stared at the Cube in silent contemplation a moment longer, not moving an inch as his gaze danced from Lana, to the Cube, to Mattie, his lips slowly working their way into a softer smile. Finally, he gently took the Cube from Lana’s hand and leaned forward, resting both forearms on his thighs. The four watched as he once again matched all the colored tiles, earning a delighted ‘yeah!’ from Mattie and a look of complete focus from Lana.

After Alfred managed to realign the colors, he grinned down at his younger siblings and asked, “Want me to teach y’all how it’s done?”

Simultaneous cries of ‘yes!’ filled the air and both Arthur and Gilbert leaned forward, watching the display with interest. Alfred spent a good portion of the next hour showing them and explaining the fastest and most efficient way to solve the Rubik’s Cube. Another half hour was dedicated to allowing Mattie and Lana to try out the Cube for themselves. Lana, with steely determination, solved it first with a victorious cry that reminded Gilbert of when he’d first seen Alfred climbing that tree years ago. Mattie solved it not too long after, though his reaction was far more subdued, ducking his head with a self-satisfied smile and blush as Alfred praised him.

Lana had snatched the completed Cube out of Mattie’s hand and had begun to scramble it again when the bedroom door opened, revealing a woman with deeply tanned skin, rich dark brown hair tied into a high though lopsided bun, and smiling golden-brown eyes. Her loose shirt revealed an intricate black **β** along her collar bone. The woman spots the three children on the bed and her expression brightened, revealing deeply ingrained laugh lines along the edges of her eyes. She opened the door wider and waved her hands, indicating that the children should come with her.

“Come along, _hijos,”_ she said, her accent soothing, urging the children slowly out of the bed. The pace picked up almost immediately as a loud clap of thunder echoed through the air, causing the two small children to dash to their mother while Alfred most certainly picked up his pace. “Papa has dinner ready for us!”

“Did papa make his macaroons?” Lana demanded, grabbing her mother’s hands and bouncing up and down at her side. On the other side, Mattie stood silently, clutching his mother’s arm and tugging it insistently while the woman glanced up to grin gratefully at Alfred.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly as Lana continued to bounce at her side and Mattie continued to tug on her arm. “While I help them wash their hands, would you mind helping your father set the table? Mama Ollie’s on her way in from the hospital and will be here shortly.”

“Sure,” Alfred said, making his way to the door with his hands buried in the material of his pants. “Papa downstairs?” Alfred was already out the door as their mother answered.

“Mmh? Oh, yes. Yes, _si_. Papa’s downstairs, Matthew, _carino_ , please stop pulling on my arm and yes, Lana, Papa made some strawberry macaroons. Alfred, _bebé_ , wash your hands before you do anything.”

“I’ll do it in the kitchen,” Alfred’s voice called faintly from the hallway. Gilbert and Arthur watched as Mattie and Lana were led out of the room, the door closing shut behind them with nary a thud.

The two, still leaning on and against the bed, studied the room which seemed suddenly much smaller. Arthur leaned back against the bed while Gilbert leaned back against the wall on the far side of the bed. Before either could comment, Gilbert closed his eyes and then opened them, revealing the beige, professionally painted walls and immaculately cleaned clean space of his room.

Gilbert, who’s bed was not positioned like Alfred’s had been, who’s bed was, in fact, in the center of his room far away from any walls to lean on, fell to the floor with a loud ‘thud’. Gilbert groaned as a sharp pain danced up his back. He rubbed his head, deciding the stay on the floor for a moment longer.

“What happened?” A small, quiet voice asked from the doorway. Gilbert tilted his head in the direction of the door and spotted his younger brother leaning warily across the threshold, as though questioning whether he had permission to cross into the room. 

“My shirt fell off the bed,” Gilbert grumbled as he rubbed the back of his head and dragged himself to his feet. Ludwig’s looked completely perplexed as his head fell curiously to the side.

“That sounded a little louder than a _shirt._ ”

“Yeah, well, I was in it, so that might’ve had something to do with it.”

Gilbert began patting his trousers, attempting to get whatever dirt might have been on it to fall off. His anger from earlier had dimmed and he felt much calmer. In the background, he could hear the almost muted anthems of the Scorpions. Gilbert reached for the remote at on his side table and pressed pause, silencing the music. He studied Ludwig, standing barely inside the threshold and shifting from foot to foot, looking uncomfortable. An image of Alfred painstakingly teaching his younger sibling’s how to solve a puzzle, combined with other memories of Gilbert and Ludwig playing football, had Gilbert crouching at the side of his bed, pushing past clothes and old pairs of shoes that had been unceremoniously shoved beneath to hide them from his father’s scorn, and grabbing an old football.

He pulled the ball out from beneath the bed and held it out to Ludwig, bouncing it with his knee and then holding it between his hands with a grin.

Ludwig’s look of consternation faded, replaced with a small grin as he stepped farther into the room, snatching the ball out of his hands.

Gilbert laughed and ruffled Ludwig’s hair, earning an irritated look from the little smart-ass at his side.

The two played football well into the night, until their father appeared and ordered them inside for bedtime.

* * *

The next time the two met their soulmate they were with the fourth member of their quartet, an exhausted looking boy straight from business center of Beijing. At 21, Yao Wang—or Wang Yao, depending on country and culture—had accompanied the two now 19-year-olds, both in torn trousers, large boots, and holey shirts bearing names of punk bands from their respective countries. Arthur’s hair was now a spiked green mess, piercings still visible, and Gilbert had made no changes, save for spiking his white hair, dying the tips red, and earning as many piercings as Arthur. 

Yao, dressed to the nines in his well-worn, expensive looking pajamas eyed the two with wry amusement, though the exhaustion he felt was visible by the dark circles under his eyes.

Arthur nodded at him, hands on his hips. “How ya doin?”

Yao snorted but yawned, attempting to cover the yawn with a hand. “University’s a blast, as are orchestra practices.”

“When do you sleep?”

Yao groaned and rubbed the back of his neck with his hand, revealing a thick **A** on the tip of his shoulder. “Sleep? What is that? Is that, like, a dragon?”

Gilbert snickered, “thereabout, yeah.”

They all shared a grin before allowing themselves to glance around the setting, trying to regain their bearings. From what they could tell they were in a hallway, surrounded on both sides with large brick walls the color of off-white beige and graying, smudged metallic lockers. A faded black clock was connected to one of the walls above the lockers, and the tiled floor beneath them was made up of scratched and smudged tiles with an errant pattern of a sickly red color and dirty white interspaced to form an unimpressive display.

The three of them continued their search, all looking absently-mindedly horrified.

“Is—are we in a _prison?_ ” Arthur demanded as his gaze fell upon a plain bulletin board, plastered with torn bits of paper.

Gilbert was perplexed. “Why would we be in a prison? Better yet, why would _Alfred_ be in a prison? He was always so…” Gilbert’s comment trailed off as he remembered both times he had met his soulmate: the first being a picture of a sweet boy with a wide, dimpled smile; the other being a picture of an older brother, patiently teaching his younger siblings a complicated puzzle. Arthur appeared to be in the same frame of mind while glancing around, a frown marring his expression. Yao was the only one eyeing them with open amusement before speaking,

“The first time I saw him, he was in a classroom with other young children. He’d been placed in a large blue…bin? Is that the right word? Eh, either way, he’d been placed in a large blue container. He was small enough that he could sit with ease inside the container. Anyways, he hadn’t seen me, but he had this look on his face…” Yao snorted, flashing them an amused half-smile. “He started pushing and pulling on the edges of the container, making it steadily begin to move. The teacher, an old woman who looked as though she had seen better days ~~—~~ a Beta, no doubt ~~—~~ was too focused on the other children to see Alfred slip through the door, still in the container. I followed Alfred, of course, and watched as this skinny 7-year-old made it through the front gate of the stone building, across a plot of cars, and nearly to the edge of the schoolyard when the container was hit by a slow-moving car. The container fell over, with Alfred inside with nary a scratch on him. The teacher and the person whom I assume was the principle all hurried out, yelling non-stop. Both teachers began yelling at Alfred, the driver was near inconsolable, and Alfred just watched all parties with the wide-eyed glance of a child who had no idea what they’d done wrong. You know what the little shit said, when they’d finished yelling at him? He said, ‘but I stayed in the bucket!’”

Gilbert and Arthur snorted out a laugh, especially when Yao’s grin widened at their amusement. “Never mistake an Omega for being weak: they’re canny and single-minded when they’ve set their mind to doing something. Submissive? At times, given their nature. Weak willed?” Yao snorted and ran a hand through his shoulder length hair. “Hardly.”

Before either Gilbert or Arthur could respond, a shrill whistle pierced the air, making all three wince, Yao especially. A second passed before there was a small hum that slowly crescendoed into a low roar as students filtered out of their classrooms in waves. The first things Gilbert noted was that none of them wore uniforms: as students crowded around the three outsiders, an array of colors flashed around them—a girl rushed by in a polka-dotted skirt, while a couple stumbled by, one in a bright green hoodie, another in a striped sweater, both laughing at some unheard joke.

“They’re not in uniforms…” Gilbert muttered before casting Arthur an amused look. “Looks like you were wrong: this isn’t a prison, just an American school.”

Arthur snorted. “Remind me again the difference?”

Before any of them could answer, there came a low shout followed by a loud thud. Around the three spectators, the students turned to catch sight of the noise, some students stopping in their tracks altogether while others continued walking, as though getting in the middle of anything was too much of a distraction for them. Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao shared a look and began walking towards the sound, only to get to the edge of a small gathering of students. As they pushed their way to the front, they heard various sounds from students: from shouts to stop fighting, to students shouting to egg the fight on, to students taking bets.

The three made it to the front just as they saw a slight figure in a black hoodie that had a white skeleton with a top hat and a cane with the phrase ‘Bone-jour’ painted across the front slammed into one of the lockers, causing the hood of the sweater to fall, revealing curly, golden blond hair. The three watched as a much larger male slammed Alfred against one of the lockers again, shoving a forearm against his throat before grabbing Alfred’s own arm and practically throwing him against the other end of the narrow corridor.

Alfred landed on the ground on his back, pushed himself to his elbow and wiping a stray droplet of blood from his lower lip. Gilbert stepped forward, furious, while both Arthur and Yao watch the large male with poison in their gazes, their fists tightly clenched.

The three spectators watched Alfred study the approaching student, still on his elbows, stunned as Alfred allowed himself a mischievous smile (exacerbating his already bleeding lip), his blue eyes dancing darkly as he shoved himself to his feet, grinning the entire time at the now livid student.

“You know,” Alfred drawled, his accent somehow managing to make the entire showdown even more distantly comical. “For all your talk on kickin my ass, you’re doin an shit job at it.”

“For a fucking _breeder_ , you’re a little low on the food chain to be mouthin off to an Alpha, Jones,” the Alpha snarled as he shoved Alfred none-too-gently against the brick wall behind him. Alfred’s eyes widened in mock astonishment.

“’Alpha’?” He demands, grinning a shit-eating grin at the fuming male. “Is that your excuse? Damn. The standards for Alphas must’ve dropped. Last time I checked it didn’t take an Alpha with backup to fight a… what’d you call me? _Breeder_?”

The Alpha snarled, shoving Alfred hard to the side and leaving him, yet again, on his back, pushing himself to his elbows. Again, Alfred rose to his feet, hands buried in his pockets, “Is that the best you can do? Really? That’s sad, ‘specially when you were talkin so much shit earlier in class.”

The Alpha released another particularly loud snarl, one that threatened violence to anyone opposing him, and lunged forward, grabbing a handful of Alfred’s hoodie at the neck just as another student stepped forward into the fight—an African-American boy wearing a royal purple hoodie with elegant golden script that read ‘They see me Roman,’ with the picture of a golden chariot with a golden figure inside, wearing a plumed helmet, a glowing sun set against the backdrop. The boy lunged forward, obviously trying to get between Alfred and the Alpha, when a loud voice pierced the mayhem.

“ _Jones_! Baylie! That is enough!” The crowd quickly dispersed for class as a tall, middle-aged Spanish man stepped forward with his arms crossed, a scowl on his face. Soon, standing alone in the hallway, were two boys in a very precarious situation—wherein punches looked like they were close in coming—another boy clutching a handful of hoodie at Alfred’s shoulder ready to pull him away from the fight, and three unseen spectators, all glaring daggers at the large Alpha while Alfred stood there, bleeding at his lip and chest heaving.

The entire situation looked far too suspicious so it really was a stupid question when the teacher asked, sounding like he knew what was coming, “What are y’all three doin?”

The three students stared at the scowling teacher, none of them answering. Finally, though, Alfred spoke up, “We’re… studying Newton’s third law of motion.”

The teacher looked so fucking done. “Which is…”

“For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.”

The teacher sighed, removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose while squeezing his eyes shut. Finally, he replaced his glasses on his nose, sighed deeply, and turned to glare at the three—Alfred, who’d been released, the purple hoodie boy who had a tight grip on Alfred’s shoulder, and the Alpha who looked sour about the entire thing.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do: Baylie, if I ever see ya fightin an Omega, you will answer to me and the principle of this school and your privileges of joining a sport’s team and fieldtrips will be revoked for the rest of your time here; Jones, if I ever catch you fightin again, I will revoke your membership to both sports teams and the science club, as well as banning you from going on fieldtrips; and Washington…” The teacher’s voice trailed off and he threw his hands in the air, directing his words at the attempted peacekeeper. “What are you even doing here?”

The kid shrugged, his hand still on Alfred shoulder, “My friend was in trouble. I wanted to help. End of story.”

The teacher sighed and shook his head as the bell overhead rang the same shrill, screeching noise. “Dismissed,” the teacher ordered flatly as the three slowly began shifting. “Baylie, get to class. Washington, take Jones to nurse Hart and get that lip looked at.”

When none of them moved, the teacher turned to glare at them, “that wasn’t a suggestion. _Now_.”

‘Baylie’ shot one last glare at Alfred before grabbing his bag and stalking past where Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao were, each wanting to trip the lad, but none of them able to. The teacher walked off, muttering something about students and hormones and Alfred cast his friend an impish smile, shrugging the shoulder still tightly in the grip of said boy. ‘Washington’ sighed and shoved Alfred forward, reaching for both of their bags to swing over his shoulder. Alfred wiped another droplet of blood from his lip. He then grinned at his friend.

“That was fun, right Davie?”

“I hate you,” Davie responded, his voice flat, an eyebrow raised. “Really? Of all the people you had to start a fight with—“

“Oh, give me a break,” Alfred grumbled, snatching his own bag and throwing it over his shoulder. “That asshole was asking for me to reassemble his face for him.”

“Explicitly?”

“… more of a ‘between the lines’ type deal.”

Now Davie snorted. “Yeah, well, unfortunately, that shit don’t fly in the real world.”

“Really? ‘Cause ‘reassemble my face’ is all I hear when our dear old president opens his mouth.”

“Focus, Alfred. Focus.”

The two were on the other side of the hallway, banking left, trailed by three invisible soulmates. After taking a flight of stairs and then banking another left, Alfred spoke.

“He was talkin shit about Omegas.”

Davie snorted, “and in other news, the sky is blue.”

Alfred snorted and rolled his eyes, brushing off some blood from his lip, “Fair. But, _Jesus Christ_ , he’s just… Ugh! If I was in a room with Hitler, Stalin, and him and had a gun with only two bullets, I’d shoot Hitler and Stalin and then fucking brain that asshole.”

“Well, on the bright side your priorities are in order.”

The two continued walking, chatting easily about classes and the like until they made it to a door that read ‘Faculty Offices.’ The two entered, and though the three spectators tried to follow, they couldn’t: when Gilbert attempted to step through the doors, he found himself shoving an indignant Arthur out of the way as he walked over the threshold to their dirty old flat, the kitchen filled with Thai food from the night before.

The two shared a look, shook their heads, and huffed. Arthur ran a hand through his hair and made for his notebook, while Gilbert made for the left-over Thai to see if there were any remnants left.


	2. Visitors Pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter consists of visitations by the through unseen soulmates, an ordered lists of moments and adventures the three have borne witness to over the early years. This chapter is only part 1, but through these moment the three learn more and more tidbits about their boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter consists of characters I added, some which are canon, some which are not. Many of the names mentioned are my HCs for the states. I really hope y'all enjoy this because it was really fun to write! 
> 
> *warnings for mentions of politics.

Surprisingly, that was far from the last time the three saw Alfred in High School. Prior, the three had appeared at random times, stretched across years per visit. Yao could remember first seeing Alfred ankle deep in a river, searching for shiny rocks, only to find an arrowhead. When Alfred has spotted Yao, he’d given a delighted laugh and had tried to give Yao his newfound treasure.

Arthur had found him curled up in a ball when he had been very sick, living in a flat with his parents that was in a far too small, old, and dilapidated building, not fit for anyone let alone a child with three parents.

Gilbert had told them about his first meetings and neither of them had seemed overly surprised.

“It was probably an after effect of his sickness,” Arthur had reasoned.

However, the three had had two things in common and that was: When they had seen Alfred the first time, he could see them, but later he couldn’t see them; and they had, for the most part, appeared in intervals of a few years.

Now, though, they seemed to appear almost every other week.

None of them were complaining, of course: it was interesting to watch the lad grow up in an environment that was familiar and therefore true to his nature.

It was amusing, listening to him mouthing off in one class or verbally shredding Shakespeare into thin pieces (Arthur hadn’t known whether to be horrified or amused, though due to the amusement of the rest of the class, it seemed as though ‘The Taming of the Shrew’ deserved Alfred’s complete evisceration, along with other related comments); they had all been in a French class when a fellow student had tricked him into reading a paragraph far too advanced for their level near perfectly, complete with accent, pronunciation, and intonation, earning him a pass to the Principal’s office and a quick introduction to ‘Intro to Arabic.’

One of Gilbert’s favorite moments was when Alfred had been sitting on the top of a couch, feet on the cushions, hands between his legs and tightly gripping the sofa cushion to steady himself, excitedly talking about the latest book they’d been reading in a class.

Francis, Alfred’s father, had been pouring over an old cookbook, mumbling to himself about measurements and ingredients and without looking up had ordered Alfred to sit on the cushion. Alfred had complied, pouting, and had waited for his father to venture into the kitchen before he reseated himself on the top of the couch.

Alfred, Davie, Lien, and another close friend of theirs, Nix, had gotten into some discussion, which soon turned into a heated debate between Davie and Alfred that led to Davie picking up a throw pillow and chucking it, full-force, at Alfred. Alfred had caught it with his stomach, having seen it at the last moment, and had nearly gone tumbling to the ground. His knees, gripping the edge, and his hands had stopped the tumble, which led to a relieved beam from Alfred. Just then Francis had rounded the corner, still entranced in his cookbook. He’d walked right by Alfred and without looking up had jabbed the boy in the side, earning a ‘yelp’ from said boy and causing him to dramatically release his hold on the couch and fall backwards, somehow landing on his stomach.

“I told you not to sit up there,” Francis had drawled, eyeing his moaning son with unabashed amusement.

By the time they had gotten to Alfred’s ‘sophomore year’ the three were sure that they knew Alfred’s schedule better than he did, not to mention his favorite subjects—history, science, and his Arabic class, though they could tell that was due to a crush that he had on the star pupil.

Once they had appeared in a large field, surrounded by rings of trees. Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao studied their surroundings, Yao raising a curious eyebrow when they all noticed a particularly large group of older folks and kids, all dressed in varying arrays of gray and light blue uniforms interspaced with what appeared to be people in bright neon vests. As they strolled through the groups, the overheard two young girls arguing with a man in a neon yellow vest.

“Women didn’t fight!”

“Yes, they did!” One of the girls argued, while the other stood by her side, her arms crossed. “Not only did they fight, but after the Civil War female Alphas—who had shown the same fierceness as their male counterparts—had been granted the right to fight in all wars!”

“Exactly! _After_ the Civil War!”

“But they also fought _during_ it!”

The proctor had thrown his hands in the air, exasperated, when the other girl, the one with her arms crossed, added coolly, “As the number of eligible young men/Alpha combos dwindled due to the ferocity of the fighting, many young female/Alpha combos were called to arms given that the militaries were also losing large numbers male/Betas and using male/Omegas was out of the question for the same reason female/Betas and female/Omegas were: the demand in manpower required larger families and more efficient breeding pairs.”

The three spectators walked past the argument, searching for familiar figure when they heard another his voice. Following the sound, the three came upon two figures, one on his back on the ground with his hands behind their head, the other pacing from side to side, both decked in blue uniforms.

“Hullo, Alfred,” Arthur called dryly, all of them more than used to their soulmate’s complete inability to see any of them no matter when they visited. Unsurprisingly, this time was no different.

Davie, the figure pacing, was grumbling as Gilbert swaggered towards Alfred and dropped, cross-legged, at his side. Alfred continued lazily playing with the surrounding patches of grass without notice.

“Tell me again why I’m doing this?” Davie demanded, still pacing. Alfred didn’t even look up when he answered.

“Because this is a way of earning extra credit points and it’ll look hella good on any transcript. Plus, it’s the anniversary of some important battle.”

“I know, but… I could be doing almost anything else! Instead of being here, in the fucking sun, surrounded on all sides by a forest that’s most likely haunted.”

Alfred shot up immediately, forcing himself to his elbows. “Uh-huh, boyo, ex-neh on mentioning ghost-eh.”

Davie shoots him a flat look. “Your mother is literally Native American are you really gonna feed me this shit now?”

“Yeah, and my dad’s French and those bastards know a thing or two about ghosts, too, but that doesn’t mean shit; Mama Esme’s European Spanish and they know some things about ghosts. Just… Don’t mention ghosts.” Alfred shuddered. “Please.”

Before Davie could respond, a loud, unfortunately familiar voice sounded from the crowd. Alfred and Davie _definitely_ recognized the voice: Alfred rolled his eyes and groaned, falling back against the ground and throwing an elbow over his eyes; Davie also groaned and looked ready to commit murder, muttering a quiet ‘fuck my life.’

Pushing through the crowd, they all spotted the familiar, overly buff Alpha from their first visit to the school, decked out in a gray uniform. The Alpha scanned the gathered group, spotted Davie and Alfred and leered as he began to lope towards the two. Gilbert wanted to throw something at him and both Yao and Arthur looked ready for a fun game of murder.

“Well, well, well, Look’at what we’ve got here! Ready to celebrate?”

Without looking up, elbow still thrown over his face, Alfred responded flatly. “Celebrate what? The inevitable loss of a renegade band of traitors?” Alfred lazily lifted the arm not covering his face and weakly waved it. “Yeah, happy treason day, traitors.”

The Alpha, known by the three only as Baylie, shot Alfred a disgusted look. “You’re from the south, show some respect.”

Davie shot Baylie a sharp look. “I’m from the south, too, but I ain’t celebrating the day that a group of elite farmers decided that owning slaves constituted as ‘states rights’ and broke away from their own country and started a war that killed more Americans than any war to date. _Combined_.”

Baylie shrugged, “It’s the past now, yeah? Now it’s pride.”

Alfred finally dropped his arm and pushed himself onto his elbows, still the picture of ease. Gilbert, at a closer range, found himself studying Alfred’s slender neck and jawline, with little strands of golden blond hair curling around his face, painted by sunlight. Gilbert blinked, realizing that Alfred had been speaking. He entered the conversation just as Alfred was saying, “—you can take that and your shiny new bayonet and shove them right up your stupid Alpha—“

“Alright everyone!” One of the proctors called. They all turned to look at the man from earlier in the neon yellow vest, clapping his hands together and beaming around at them all. “It is the anniversary of the Battle of the Cockpit Point!” (cue immature snickers throughout the camp site, including Gilbert) “Although it didn’t happen too close to this little town, we were told that this would be a fun way to remember a piece of our own history—“

“A very short history it is, too,” Yao grumbled, earning a ‘Hear, hear’ from both Arthur and Gilbert.

“—and teach it! So, what we had planned was a Capture the Flag type game, with Blue and Gray teams! Every other person will receive a ‘bayonet’—a very modified version of a paint gun. The ‘bullets’ that are in the gun are yellow because we, unfortunately, ordered the wrong color—“

“Thanks a lot, Stephen!” Someone from the crowd called, earning laughter from the gathered crowd.

“As such, when you are hit with a yellow pellet _you. Are. Out_. You _do not_ pass go and collect $200; you _do not_ try to act out the resurrection of Christ or the latest episode of The Walking Dead. You die, get back up, and walk to the pavilion area where we’ll have hotdogs and, if the weather stays this cold, s’mores. Now, do we have any questions?”

When no one raised their hands, he again clapped his hands and told the teams to gather and create a regiment, pick a team leader, and come up with a strategy to hide their flags, with the Blue team’s being a large red flag with a rearing lion on the front. When they had all stared at the flag, a Vietnamese girl with dark hair tightly stuffed into a messy bun and a pair of paint-stained trousers declared defensively that, she “literally had no idea what they wanted when they asked for a flag and fuck y’all I was watching Harry Potter.”

Everyone accepted this statement because Harry Potter was, in fact, the shit and the flag looked really cool.

So, when the sun was directly above them and each team had been a sufficient enough plan, they all split up and headed towards opposite sides of the clearing; Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao of course following the Blue team and Gilbert found himself studying Alfred’s… uniform. Which hugged his body. _Really_ well. He probably still had a couple centimeters on all three of them, but narrow shoulders curved into a narrow waist, with flared hips. Although he normally wore baggy hoodies and sweaters (with kickass logos and statements, to be clear), the figure hugging uniform fit him well.

He was, what? 16 now? Well over the age of consent in both China and Germany and right on the age of consent in England. Maybe…

_Head outta the gutter, Gillie_ , his mind whispered as the group soldiered farther into the dense forest. _Focus while your boy defends his flag._

Gilbert couldn’t tell if that thought was comforting or not.

“Alright,” began Davie, who had been elected as Blue team leader in a near unanimous vote—helped especially because he’d been one of the few people in the party of twelve that had been given a ‘gun’. Alfred and Lien, the Vietnamese girl wearing the paint-stained trousers, were also given ‘guns’, along with the three other strangers that none of the invisible triage knew. “So, our main goal is to protect our flag which is gonna be set up at our flank. Now, ‘puppy guarding’ is, in fact, _illegal_ so what we’ll have to do is keep an appropriate distance. Lien,” he pointed to the dark-haired girl, earning an excited grin from the bouncing girl. “You and me are gonna go left to scope out their area and try to find and grab their flag. I’ll give my ‘Net to Denni,” this directed towards a dark-skinned girl wearing a cap with the word ‘Chargers’ in large letters, her thick dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Her smile was crooked, revealing a side dimple as she excitedly reached for the bayonet.

“Denni, you and Carlos,” this was directed at a curly-haired, olive-skinned boy without a bayonet and wearing a blue hat with a bird on it. “Y’all go right while Lien and me head left. Nice hat, by the way.”

Davie turned to a girl with a long blonde braid and an upturned nose, standing beside an equally serious African American girl with gray eyes, who was holding the gun. “Richie, you and Atta stand guard by our flag—nothing gets by you two as an individual, nothing gets by you two as a team.”

Atta, the African American girl, smiled impishly while Richie looked on solemnly. Atta turned to Richie, a fond smile curling her lips upward, “You got this, Southern Belle?”

Richie snorted, rolling her light blue eyes, “Of course I do, Peaches,” she drawled with a flirtatious smile.

Davie turned to the remaining five, all of whom were watching him seriously.

“The rest of y’all are scope and separate: scope out the area and try to drag the other team away from their position of the flag. Be good and don’t get shot.”

“BREAK!” They all shouted in unison, pairs grinning at each other and individuals slowly working on how to hold and shoot their weapons if they had one, or else stretching their limbs to get them loose and ready to run.

“I love how they indoctrinate them early,” Yao said dryly as the three began drifting towards Alfred, who was in a deep conversation with both Davie and Lien, whose hands were tightly intertwined.

“—sure this is a good idea?” Alfred was saying as the three appeared, looking worried. “After all, I don’t really have the same advantages as the other team.” Alfred waved his hands, indicating himself. “I mean, it’s kinda hard to scout ahead if you don’t have a soulmate to help out.”

The three turned to stare at Alfred wide-eyed, shocked despite themselves. It was one of the first times they had ever heard Alfred mention his soulmate(s), or lack thereof. The three stared at Alfred, mouths gaping. Alfred, as always, continued ignoring them.

“Come on, man, it’s not that big of an advantage—“

“Are you kidding me?”

“And neither Davie nor I have the advantage either,” Lien chimed in, swinging their entwined hands while shouldering the bayonet with the other hand. “Like, just stay on guard as much as possible and keep the ‘Net trained, right? You just need to drive the larger guards away from their flag and we’ll tell you when we get the flag.”

“Did you charge your phone?” Davie asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow at an affronted Alfred.

“Yes!” He declared, snatching his phone from his back pocket and showing them the chipped and cracked screen.

_Battery at 75%._

Davie shot him a flat look, with Alfred replying with a sheepish shrug. “What? My charger kinda stopped charging.”

“You really need a new one.”

“Meh. I’m still alive.”

“For now,” Lien muttered, tugging Davie’s hand when they tell-tale sound of a prerecorded cannon sounded. “There’s the signal. We have a group chat and shit’s about to go down!” Lien added with a wide grin, all but dragging Davie into the tree line, followed by everyone else fading into the shadows.

The three spectators shared a look while Alfred just glanced around himself, pouting. “well,” he grumbled to himself before turning and beginning his trek to circle the clearing and get to the other side without getting caught.

The day was long.

 None of them knew how much time had passed as they ambled through the forest, trading smart ass comments and observations, none of which Alfred heard. All they knew was that when they had started, the sun had been almost directly above them, but now fell at an angle, casting long shadows, while weak rays of sunlight broke through heavily wooded overhanging. Halfway through a debate involving music, they all heard a particularly loud snap of a stick, causing Alfred to stiffen and duck behind a tree, ‘weapon’ ready.

“Is something finally going to happen?” Yao demanded, his arms crossed while he looked on with fatigue and open annoyance.

“Maybe it’s a bird?” Gilbert suggested, earning a snort from Arthur.

“A bird? Oh, leave off, what would a bird be doing breaking a _stick_.”

“Birds can break sticks.”

“Why on earth would they even—“

“Birds can break sticks!”

“They can break sticks,” Yao interrupted, eyeing the two with amusement. “Although it would have to be a very heavy bird, they can in fact break sticks.”

“I mean, yeah, if it had the _weight_ ,” Arthur stressed, running a hand through a mess of green hair. “What bird here would—“

“Identify yourself!” Alfred shouted, bayonet leveled at the intruder.

“Don’t shoot!” A voice called. Just as the figure broke through a particularly dense circle of trees, the four defenders recognized the newcomer immediately and Gilbert watched in open amusement as Alfred’s expression went from tense and wary, to entirely unamused and deadpanned. When the figure straightened up there was a low ‘poof!’ followed by swearing.

“What the actual hell, Jones, I said _don’t_ shoot!” Baylie raged, glaring down at a bright yellow spot staining his dirty and crooked gray uniform.

“Oops,” Alfred replied, his tone impassive, weapon still at the ready. Alfred cocked the weapon and Gilbert didn’t think it was fair that someone could make something like that look so awesome. “You’re currently in ‘enemy’ territory and you’re also a grade-A jackass.”

“Yeah, well, I’m lost.”

“You—I—how?!” Alfred demanded, lowering his weapon but just barely. “You’ve lived in this town longer than me and you’re _lost_? Do you really suck so bad at the directions?!”

“I can show you something I’m good at sucking,” Baylie drawled, leering at Alfred pointedly. Alfred’s deadpanned expression returned and he shot Baylie again.

“What the fuck?!”

Alfred cocked the gun.

“Fine,” Baylie huffed, glaring warily at Alfred now. “I lost my… group and have literally no idea where I am, happy?”

“Considering this is probably gonna wind up going the way I think it will? Not really, no.” Alfred sighed, “I’m gonna try calling Davie, okay? Just… try to be bearable for, like, a minute.”

Alfred began fiddling with his phone while Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao continued to eye Baylie with openly hostile and wary eyes. A moment passed and Gilbert glanced over at Alfred, who was glaring at his phone.

“Welp, no service out here, so I guess my carrier sucks— _I will shoot you again, I swear to God_ ,” Alfred promised just as Baylie opened his mouth. He released a snort and snapped it shut, nodding his head in agreement. Silence ensued, broken only by a stray call of birds overhead. Finally, Baylie spoke up, sounding tired.

“Maybe we should, you know, stick together until we find either my team or yours.”

“I will if you behave.”

Baylie snorted, “Oh, babe, I _always_ behave,” he drawled with a leer. Alfred raised an eyebrow and lifted his gun, pointing it at Baylie who in turn raised both of his arms with a nod. Slowly, Alfred lowered the weapon, still casting the much larger Alpha a wary look.

The five of them began walking, Alfred and Baylie eyeing each other with open animosity while Arthur, Gilbert and Yao began contemplating different ways to murder the Alpha before them.

By the time the next word was spoken by either Alfred or Baylie, the light of the sun had dimmed, the sun just barely cresting the horizon and it became far easier to see both Alfred and Baylie’s breath. Alfred sighed and stopped walking, bayonet barrel pointed at the ground.

“Look, we have no idea where we’re going and the sun’s setting. Why don’t we try our phones again?” The idea seemed logical enough so both teens did so, their faces lighting up with the glow of their lock screens.

No luck.

“Dammit,” Alfred breathed, shivering. He turned to glare daggers at Baylie. “Shouldn’t _anything_ look familiar? Like, shouldn’t you know _anything_ about the place you’ve lived in for forever?”

Baylie, hands resting on his knees as he bent over and tried to catch his breath, glanced up with furious scowl, “Fuck off, _breeder_ , it’s not like I live in the fucking forest, okay? I don’t recognize every tree and rock. That’s supposed to be your job, _Pocahontas_.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Alfred practically growled, baring his teeth and advancing on Baylie. “If you knew anything about history, you’d know that Pocahontas was a Powhattan, a Native American group found primarily _here_ , in _Virginia._ I—I don’t know where I’m from, but it’s not _here_ , so get off your fuckin high horse, you over hormonal, sorry excuse for an Alpha.”

“The fuck did you just say to me?” Baylie demanded, stepping forward and reaching for the bayonet. He grabbed the barrel and made as if to snatch it away. He sneered, “you sure you can handle this? Cause, if I’m hormonal, then God only knows what’s runnin through _your_ sex-crazed mind, huh? I bet you’d look pretty there, lying on your back, huh? Pretty Omega like you?” As he spoke, Baylie advanced on Alfred, slowly backing him into a tree. Gilbert felt rage crash over him, along with a sickening feeling of helplessness that he knew both Yao and Arthur were feeling as well. Gilbert just wanted to start swinging, though he knew he wouldn’t be able to land any hard blow to the asshole.

The three watched helplessly as Baylie advanced and Alfred stepped back, eyes fixed coldly on the taller Alpha in front of him. Alfred’s back was pressed against the hard bark of a tree trunk when Baylie spoke next,

“What? No smart ass comments? Has the shrew finally been tamed?”

Alfred’s eyes blazed and he slammed the butt of the rifle into Baylie’s foot, earning a whole new slew of swearing as the Alpha fell back hopping as he tried not to put too much weight on the injured foot. Alfred, advancing slowly, slammed the butt of the weapon into the Alpha’s stomach, causing an airy ‘oof’ to fall from the Alpha’s clenched lips as he fell backwards, felled like a giant tree to land on his back. Alfred stepped forward, not looking at all ruffled before pointing the bayonet at him,

“I’d say something on par with you looking nice on your back, but then I’d be lying,” was the steely response and Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao looked on proudly, smirking and beaming, depending on the individual, while Gilbert looked on in delight at their murderous soulmate.

“That’s our murderous puppy dog,” Yao declared fondly as Alfred huffed in disgust and stepped _on_ Baylie as he began marching the way they had just come from. Baylie groaned and slowly rose to his feet, swaying unsteadily as he began trying to catch up with Alfred’s brisk pace.

“Fuck, Jones, it was just a joke.”

“Then your sense of humor’s awful.”

Baylie groaned again, now jogging to catch up with Alfred.

The two continued on in stony silence, each casting the other a cold glare—Alfred’s gaze more furious, Baylie’s wary. After a while, the Alpha had taken out his phone and was playing around with one of the apps: lifting here and then, pointing the phone in every direction and guffawing loudly. Alfred, much to the trio’s chagrin, eventually grew curious and asked the inevitable question of, “what are you doing?”

“It’s this really cool app that tries to guess the ages of people around you,” Baylie explained, showing Alfred the screen. Arthur, Gilbert, and Yao crowded around as well, curious despite themselves. An array of numbers appeared on the screen when Baylie refreshed the page, numbers ranging from less than two, to well over 500. Alfred’s face paled.

“Fuck this,” he declared, throwing his arms in the air, weapon still in hand, “Fuck this entire thing. I ain’t gonna be that white person that does something stupid, nuh-uh. Viva la fuck this and hasta la bye-bye.”

He began powerwalking away, despite Baylie’s calls of, “careful, boyo, there are three insistent ages trailing you!” 

Alfred didn’t answer and Arthur stopped walking, eyeing the device in Baylie’s hand with consternation, rubbing his jaw. “Can that thing see us? Are we considered ghosts?”

He didn’t get an answer but Baylie barreled past them, running to catch up with Alfred. When he finally did, he grabbed Alfred’s shoulder and spun him around to face him, snatching the barrel of the gun as he did so. There was another low ‘pop’ and suddenly Baylie was on his knees, cupping his balls, tears in his eyes as he swore up and down. Arthur and Gilbert doubled over laughing and even Yao was snickering at the Alpha’s pained expression.

“What the fuck?” The Alpha demanded, his voice high.

“You tried to steal my protection and grabbed the barrel,” Alfred answered, his tone on par with ice. “My finger was on the trigger. You can’t really be that surprised.”

“Fuck you, Jones,” Baylie whimpered, the sound nearly three octaves higher than his normal voice. Alfred raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth, no doubt about to release a full blown, third-degree burn repertoire, when a loud call of ‘Alfred’ practically echoed in the air around them.

Alfred spun on his heels, weapon at the ready but a dimpled smile on his face that made the three spectators remember that there was a reason Alfred was also considered a ‘puppy’ to them: currently, the excitement that glowed around him in practical waves as Lien and Davie along with other Blues materialized.

“Where have y’all been?” Alfred crowed as he practically skipped over to hug Lien who was closer and returned the hug just as willingly.

“We finished the game, like, an hour ago and we tried to find you,” Davie explained as Alfred turned to give him a tight hug.

“We tried calling and texting you,” Lien added, hands on her hips and a worried frown marring her smooth face. “But we didn’t get a reply for either! So, we just started a search party and hoped to find you.”

Alfred smiled sheepishly, still holding his gun as he stepped back from Davie. “Service ain’t too good out here,” he explained, running a hand through his sweaty curls. “We tried callin’ and textin’ earlier and we got nothin’.”

“’We’?” Lien demanded as Baylie let out another low grunt, trying to push himself to his feet. Lien, a Beta through and through, stepped protectively in front of Alfred and Davie covered her, the other Blues falling in a protective circle around Alfred. They all studied the Alpha with varying degrees of curiosity and hostility.

Behind the group, Alfred was twiddling with the bayonet, eyeing the swaying Alpha with amusement, eyes dancing with mischief.

“What are you doing here, Baylie?” Lien demanded, practically spitting the question.

Baylie snorted, “just wanted to hang out with my future mate,” the Alpha drawled as he began stepping from side to side, obviously trying to ‘walk off’ the pain.

At the statement, Gilbert released a particularly low growl as Arthur stepped forward, a dangerous glow in his eyes, a look that had started many a fight once upon a time. Yao didn’t have that ‘dangerous’ persona, per se, but the calculating look in his eyes reminded Gilbert that he was, in fact, a very devious individual who could think circles around almost anyone. All this culminating into a very protective, very angry trio of Alphas that would’ve been more than happy to start a fight.

Carlos snorted from behind Lien, “Listen, _mongo_ , Alfred may be a little dick but his standards are at least a little too high for you.”

“Thanks, Carl,” Alfred drawled, still rubbing his weapon, his tone deadpan. “It’s good to know you care.”

“Shut-up, _pendaho_ , you’re still a little shit.”

Davie looked more annoyed than disgusted, though Lien and a few other Blues certainly looked disgusted enough to make up for it.

Alfred just looked amused, “wow,” he drawled, his words dripping with sarcasm. “What a true, bona fide honor, spawnin’ your nuggets of satan instead of goin to college. Truly, there’s nothin I’d like more—except maybe eatin glass.”

“You’ll _come_ around,” the Alpha replied as he began walking away from the group, his earlier leer returning full force as he began walking backwards, smirk visible and directed at Alfred.

“Clever,” Lien snorted as the Alpha turned to walk forward, chuckling at his own supposed wit.

They were all so focused on the retreating Alpha that the sudden ‘pop’ of a bayonet caused them to jump, though not nearly as much as Baylie—who swore loudly and stumbled forward as a bright yellow paint spot appeared on the back of his neck.

They all turned and looked at Alfred who was smiling innocently, head tilted to the side, looking every bit of an innocent puppy as before. “Oops,” he said with a little shrug in a ‘what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it’ type shrug, bayonet cradled in his arms. Carlos visibly relaxed, even whistling lowly and rising an impressed eyebrow,

“Nice shot, _pendaho_.”

“One of these days I’m gonna convince you to teach me swear words in Cuban.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t like you.”

Alfred pouted, “You just defended me!”

“That doesn’t mean I like you: it just means that I hate that asshole more than I dislike you.”

Alfred perked up, “so there’s a chance?”

“… did you really not here what I just said?”

The group walked as the two continued their little quarrel, Yao, Gilbert, and Arthur following for as long as the Bond allowed before finally returning to their home when the group hit the clearing of the trees, a bright bonfire visible in the distance.

Soon the carpet of grass turned into cold marble and the three found themselves back in their flat, the ground as messy as before, dishes still needing to be cleaned, piles of books in English, German, and Mandarin stacked hap-hazardously in the corner near a glass of now-cold tea, an old electric guitar leaning against the far wall with a notebook and pen carelessly lying by it.

Arthur made a beeline for the guitar and notebook, no doubt in a hurry to write more lyrics for an upcoming gig at a local pub. Gilbert glanced at the clock, noting that it was about time to start getting ready for his job as a pole dancer, and Yao made for a stack of books tilting hazardously to the side atop the small table in the center of the room.

* * *

 

Their next visit was more somber, if only for the fact that it was a small party of sorts preparing for the upcoming presidential election that night. Despite not being in the room physically, all three spectators could practically feel the thick tension heavy in the room.

The room in question was an unfamiliar TV room, much nicer than what they had seen at Alfred’s home, with walls painted a brighter gold color and family pictures depicting various stages of Davie’s childhood and family.

Gilbert, now happily twenty and trying to halt an incoming hangover that he could feel pounding away in his head, whistled, “Nice place,” he muttered.

Arthur, just as drunk as Gilbert, nodded slowly, attempting to keep movement to his head to a minimum, if possible. Yao just studied them, smirking.

“And you westerners said my alcohol was bad,” Yao snorted softly, delighted at their expense and jovial at his up-and-coming graduation.

“Got everything?” Alfred’s voice demanded, rounding a corner with his arms full of wine and what looked like vodka. Gilbert and Arthur went green.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder as Davie and five other teenagers trailed after them, entering the room with varying degrees of excitement and nervousness. Davie began speaking when all bottles of liquids had been carefully placed on the large, ornate wood table in front of two large couches. 

“Okay,” Davie began as the others took their seats, Alfred seated with the arm of a couch on one side, Lien on his other side and an empty seat beside her. Gilbert figured the spot was for Davie when he finished speaking. “The point of this game is simple: states that are majority or higher get either Gatorade or Vodka—blue gets Gatorade, red Vodka, alright? Alfred, did you get the Vodka?”

Alfred lifted the glass by its neck, proudly swishing the liquid within to show it off, “Behold, I have indeed brought the potato water!”

“Is it any good?” Lien asked, eyeing the clear blue glass in horrified fascination. Alfred shrugged.

“Its French Vodka, and my dad’s French so he loves it.”

“French alcohol sucks,” Carlos muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. Alfred looked ready to fight him when Davie loudly continued,

“Did you bring the wine?” Davie asked, gaining everyone’s attention once again. Alfred nodded and held up the other bottle by the neck.

“Yep! Cabernet Sauvignon.”

“Is _that_ any good?” Roo, a pretty girl in an artfully designed blue hijab asked curiously, leaning around Nix. Alfred once again shrugged.

“I think so. Mama Ollie once got this for Papa and he loved it, but when he found out it was a Californian-based wine and ranked number one in the world, he got offended and didn’t drink from it since.”

“Wasn’t that a bit of an overreaction?”

“Have you ever met my Papa?” Alfred demanded flatly, raising an eyebrow and earning a smattering of snickers from those in the room as well as the invisible triage. Davie rolled his eyes,

“I feel like anyone’d only have to meet you to know what your father’s like.”

Alfred sighed dramatically, draping himself over the arm of the couch and throwing an elbow over his eyes. Sober Gilbert would have grinned at the overly dramatic response, but drunk Gilbert could only focus on the smooth, tanned bits of skin visible as Alfred’s hoodie rode up.

“Case an’ point,” Carlos drawled from his single seat Laz-y-Boy recliner. Gilbert swallowed the rising feeling of desire, and focused more on Davie.

“ _Anyways_ , so, the game is majority blue state—Gatorade; barely blue—water (here, Davie pointed to a pack of bottled water, not opened and seated safely by the coffee table); Majority red—Vodka; barely red—wine. I’m excluded from this because of religious reasons—“

“I’m still upset that you didn’t invite me to that ceremony,” Alfred grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting playfully up at Davie. Gilbert found himself studying that pout and those lips, wondering how they’d taste against his lips or how they’d feel against his—

“It was for family only!” Davie said, throwing his hands in the air and looking exasperated, like they’d had this conversation many times before.

“Lien got to go!”

“She’s my soulmate!”

As Alfred continued pouting (and Gilbert tried to drag his mind _out of the fucking gutter_ ), Davie finally sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Fine, the next time I make a life altering decision based on my religious affiliation that can change my very outlook on life, I’ll invite you.”

“Y’all are gettin a toaster for your Bonding Ceremony,” Alfred responded, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair. “And not even a good one, either, but a shitty one that’s possessed and burns toast.”

“I literally jumped out of a plane with you, you better get me something that’s at least _nice_ for our Ceremony,” Davie ‘threatened’, though he looked more amused than anything else, especially as Lien threw an arm over Alfred’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t that bad!” Alfred protested as he pushed himself forward but made sure not to dislodge Lien’s arm.

“I literally saw Jesus!” Davie exclaimed, now trying to fight off an ever-growing grin. “D’you have any idea how terrifying it is to see a religious figure from a different religion?”

“Jesus Saves,” Alfred drawled sarcastically, leaning back into the cover of the couch and curling slightly into Lien’s side. Carlos snorted from his seat.

“Get off that, ya heathen.”

“Really, Alfred, the last time I want to a Mass with you, you literally started playing hangman during communion,” Davie continued, looking more and more amused. Alfred curled deeper into Lien’s side, looking smaller, more adorable, and definitely warmer.

“I’m honestly surprised you’re Catholic, anyways,” Nix said, dark eyes amused as she gathered her tight braids into a single hand and fitted them into a bun at the top of her head. She then wrapped an arm around Roo’s shoulder, both looking more than comfortable. “I always thought you’d be some branch off Protestant or something.”

“My dad’s French so he’s Catholic by culture, and Mama Esme’s Spanish so she’s Catholic by nature, and Mama Ollie’s Native American so she doesn’t really follow any western religion by choice, so…” Alfred trailed off and shrugged, not looking at all put out by not having any strong religious ties. Carlos cackled,

“You once threw holy water on a nun and asked if she felt anything.”

“It was for science!”

“Aww,” Lien cooed as she squeezed Alfred’s cheek. “You’re so cute when you’re being smart.”

The abject look if indignation that appeared on Alfred’s face, along with the answering pout, sent both Gilbert and Arthur into fits of laughter despite their pounding heads and even earned an amused chortle from Yao.

“Excuse you, I am not _cute_! I-I’m fire and rage and fury an—and—!”

“I don’t know, Alfred,” Carlos drawled from his seat, leaning against the arm of his chair where a girl with curly dark brown hair and a curvy figure stood, her arms crossed over her chest. “You _are_ pretty cute, you know. Didn’t your parents try to compare you to Max when you first got him? That large, furry retriever that you guys have now?”

“I—I was, like, 6, so—!” Alfred argued, cheeks growing red as he wildly waved his arms around. The action and expression did absolutely nothing to dial down the ‘cute’ notch.

“Yeah, they did!” Davie began, flashing Alfred a half apologetic/half amused smile when said boy turned to glare at his best friend with undisguised betrayal and open annoyance.

“I am fire and rage and death and fury!” Alfred growled, playfully glaring at them all.

“You once stopped walking in the middle of the hallway to tie your shoes,” Nix added, while Roo began giggling beside her. Alfred’s cheeks puffed and he started pouting,

“It was a safety hazard!”

“Admit it, Alfred,” Lien drawled, draping herself over the still pouting teen and patting his now-red cheeks, further eliciting amused snorts from his invisible soulmates. “You’re _adorable_ and pretty and _cute_ and—“

“Fight me!”

“Okay, okay,” Davie drawled while looking like he was trying to fight back a grin. He cleared his throat and forced an expression of seriousness as Alfred continued to pout. “I think we can all agree that our little cinnamon roll is—“

“I once shot a man!” Alfred interrupted, though his tone now sounded like the voice of a man who knew he was on the losing side of a fight and was slowly coming to terms with the discovery. It didn’t help that Lien leaned forward him again and pinched his cheek, smiling teasingly as she cooed,

“That’s our adorable little ball of rage!”

Alfred pouted and glared at them all, “I could kick everyone’s ass in a fight! I could kick _your_ ass and I could kick _your_ ass and I could definitely kick _Carlos’_ ass and I could kick _my own_ ass—“

“Which of these things doesn’t belong?” The dark, curly-haired girl demanded with a slight grin. Her expression turned serious, though, as she turned to Davie, “can we please get back to an explanation of this so-called game?” She asked, leaning against the arm of Carlo’s couch. Carlos grinned and wrapped an arm around her waist, resting his head against her side as she tangled her fingers in his dark curls.

“Right, sorry, Kam. So, this is pretty much like that time when we watched the Hunger Games and took a shot every time someone said ‘Peeta’.”

“Yeah,” Alfred drawled slowly, wincing at the distant memory of that adventure (still red in the face, pink at the ear tips, and put out at being called ‘cute’). Yao raised an eyebrow, demanding an explanation from the other two because wasn’t the legal drinking age for Americans 21 and why was their ( _adorable_ ) soulmate breaking the law? “Why’d we do that again?”

“It was fun,” Nix said shortly, also wincing at the memory.

“Anyways,” Davie continued while clearing his throat. “The rules are: if you start feeling too heavy or get dizzy when you stand up, you should probably stop drinking. If you start seeing doubles, you should probably stop drinking. If at any time you see something that’s not there, you should probably stop drinking. Our goal tonight is to either get drunk ‘cause we got another four years of president shit head, or get buzzed enough cause we get four years with someone who isn’t president shit head. Any questions?”

No one voiced any questions so Davie clapped his hands together and took his seat, reaching for the remote that was lying on the coffee table. The channel was already on a news network recording the proceedings of the election results, so nothing needed to be changed. Alfred suddenly perked up and abandoned his seat for the kitchen, returning with crackers and chips. Everyone nodded their approval while Yao, Gilbert, and Arthur watched the entire ‘game’ with varying degrees of amusement, though they could definitely understand the group’s overwhelming want to get smashed if the current president won another four years, especially given that they were all currently presiding in a very coastal region of the continental United States, an area that had been devastated by a powerful hurricane only eight months prior: according to even international news stations, the president had blatantly ignored countless predictions from both local scientists and national scientists, all of whom declared the area to be a danger zone.

Not only had infrastructure and resources been devastated, the human toll had risen to well over 500, with nary a finger lifted from the president himself. Suffice to say, if his international ratings had been poor, his domestic ratings had dropped to single digits overnight and most of the coastal states and regions had turned against him.

Predictions stated that he wouldn’t win; reality and a strong standing in predominately conservative areas demanded he would. All this to say that if the three didn’t have a reason to be black-out drunk tonight, tomorrow they would.

Along with a whole group of underage truants.

The night started out slowly, with more shots of wine and water than anything else, though there was always the voiced fear of too many hard shots. Conversations within both groups continued to ebb and flow and either Alfred or Carlos would get up continuously to get food. As the night progressed, though, the stakes rose.

Arkansas became a Vodka state. (The three each raising an amused eyebrow as Alfred threw back a shot of Vodka without flinching.)

Texas became a wine state. (“The coastal areas and larger cities had just barely enough support,” Kam muttered as she threw back a shot of wine, wincing as it went down. “This wine is shit.”)

Louisiana, though, became a Gatorade state, much to the equal delight of both Alfred and Roo who happily toasted one another and threw back a shot of Gatorade with vigor.

Maryland was a wine state (“What the fuck’s even in Maryland?” Nix had demanded angrily as she sipped at her shot of wine.)

Utah and Idaho, though, were both water states. (“Whoo!” Crowed Lien, happily downing both water shots. “I don’t know what y’all do, but keep doin it right!”)

California and Oregon, to the surprise of absolutely no one, were Gatorade states

Both Carolinas were decidedly water states, given their coasts and the lessons learned from Virginia

Virginia, out of what all considered pure fury and spite, was so much a Gatorade state that each decided to take two shots of Gatorade. (“Good God we’re petty,” Alfred had announced with amusement as everyone else nodded in assent)

West Virginia had been a water state. (“Blessed,” drawled Carlos, throwing back a shot of water. “They’re like the younger sibling, wanting to make big brother happy.” “Virginia’s a girl.” “Fight me, Jones.”)

Georgia, Mississippi, and Alabama had all been wine states. (“Ugghh,” Kam had groaned. “Who even lives there?” Alfred had glanced at Davie pleadingly. “Can I say it?” “No,” had been the dry response)

Alaska had been a wine state. (Cue sad faces from every teenager present)

Whereas Hawaii had been a Gatorade state. (Cue loud applause and the downing of shot glasses with delighted vigor)

Both Dakotas were, blessedly, water states. (Though they had been so close that Alfred and Lien had refused to go to the bathroom, despite both looking like they were in pain)

New Mexico and Nevada had turned into wine states (“Y’all literally have a sin city!” Alfred had cried indignantly as Lien finally said, “fuck all” and all but ran to the nearest bathroom, followed quickly by Nix and Carlos.)

Colorado, Washington state, and Montana were all water states. (“Whoo!” Alfred had crowed. “Our blessed father of all things holy and good, Saint Washington is on our side!” “I repeat my earlier statement,” Carlos had declared. “You, Alfred Fucking Jones, are a heathen.”)

All the North-Eastern tip states— New York, Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts—ranged from either water or Gatorade states, to the surprise of absolutely no one; averaged out, though, by some of the flyover states, who were wine states with Kansas and Oklahoma being Vodka states. 

All this to say that by the time the final state was cast into the fires of either condemnation or praise, all the teens, as well as Yao, Gilbert, and Arthur, were learning forward, some biting their lips, others chewing nails, some wringing their hands, others sitting, immobile.

By the time Florida finally had its moment in the sun, there were already shots of all available drinks lined up, each person wondering if they’d be coherent by the next day, others hoping that the dick state would finally _not_ screw them over.

To watch the teenagers, the results were more thrilling than a sports game could ever be, each teen in a position of either rising from their seats or already out of them and leaning towards the screen. They all watched as one-by-one the numbers and percentages ticked by like a race, one side getting the lead, only to be overtaken by the other. There was a moment of whispered silence, wherein nobody even dared to breathe as the votes ticked closer and closer, until the ‘percent counted’ stood at less than 5%. Everyone held their breath as the percentage sank below 4%… then 3%… until they blinked and it was at 1%... and then…

It turned into a water state.

None of the teenagers reacted immediately and, to be fair, none of the adults quite knew how to react either. It wasn’t until Roo threw back her shot of water—that and the Gatorade being the only thing she’d drank the entire night—that the party began to unfreeze, slowly throwing back their own shots of water as though terrified that it was nothing more than a dream and that the election results had been wrong.

But there they were, on screen for everyone to see. The states, the population percentages—

And the predicted Electoral College vote.

Blue team had won.

They elation that followed was a slow crescendo which began from a low roar issued from outside, a slow build-up of voices that sounded like a riot. The teens grinned wildly at each other, the alcohol and their own emotions, not to mention the heady smell of hormones and excitement that no doubt permeated through the room, adding to the high that shown on each teen’s face—dimpled grins meeting scarred beams meeting crooked smiles.

Davie, of course, spoke first. “Sounds like they’re having a party out there,” he said, somewhat redundantly, though no one could fault him. “Think we should join them?”

The answer was unanimous as each teen rose to their feet, Alfred throwing an arm over Lien’s shoulder, who threw on arm around Alfred’s waist and twined her other arm through Davie’s; Nix and Roo who were twirling and laughing in the middle of the room, holding hands and just spinning; Kam had dipped Carlos, the pair alternating between laughing and kissing; and even Arthur and Gilbert were beaming, laughing manically when they opened their mouth, Yao staring at nothing, a slow beam like the sun breaking through clouds appearing on his face before all three were practically shouting their own elation, feeding off the emotions of the teens and their own feelings, delighted because Alfred was, happy because Alfred was, jovial because they themselves were.

The group of teens, followed by the three spectators, all made their way forward, skipping and tripping over one another as they made for the door, throwing it open to a nicely-painted hallway, neighbors from up and down the different flats filtering out of their own rooms and homes, their faces lit with giddy delight. The teens all shared a laugh with them, throwing arms up in victory, merging with the crowd as they all began leaving the apartment complex in a flood of people, whooping and hollering, reaching across the flood and high-fiving and sharing a laugh. Yao, Gilbert, and Arthur were swept away in the crowd, despite their best efforts to stick with Alfred or Davie or anyone they recognized, distraught at the idea of leaving, of returning to their quiet flat wherein word of the election wouldn’t be revealed until later; they wanted to watch the fates of a people (an incredibly spiteful people, to be honest) celebrating an advancement in their own democracy, as well as the joy of a successful usurpation through pooling their own resources and allowances together. It was a footstep forward in the tumultuous somersault backwards that their soon-to-be former president had forced these people and this nation to make.

The flood drained itself out at the entrance that lead to a cobble-stoned road, lit on both sides by street lamps. The three spectators, having lost both their soulmate and anyone else that looked familiar, decided to follow the ebb and flow of the crowd around them, studying the grand architecture on either side of them; it seemed that though the hurricane had been a devastation, the people and their local governments, not to mention donations from other states and countries abroad, had managed to rebuild the city into a hodgepodge of historic streets and sights, alongside modern apartment complexes and technologies.

“Is there a distance parameter?” Yao demanded over the roar of the crowd as the three quickly followed the swell of people, the moving mass seeming to have a destination already in mind.

“I dunno,” Arthur responded with a shrug, grinning despite himself when he saw three kids in three different Guns ‘N Roses tees, all whooping and hollering, spinning and jumping around one another in an array of languages, one that sounded like Spanish, one that sound vaguely like English, and one not even speaking, just motioning with their hands and then stopping to laugh as their friend leaped into a puddle. Arthur’s grin widened as the puddle, deeper it seemed than they thought, left a wet stain to the lad’s calf. None of them cared, the stain only added to the elation. Arthur turned to his comrades, still grinning, “I dunno. All I know is there seems to be a party goin on.”

“Wonder if this party’s gonna end with any tea in the harbor,” Gilbert drawled, cackling at the twin looks of horror on both Yao and Arthur’s face. Still cackling, he jogged ahead, watching the crowds of people enter what appeared to be a street center, a Square, with a large stone fountain right at the center.

And standing atop a step on the fountain, leaning against what appeared to be a plaque stood Alfred, scanning the crowd, appearing to have lost his friends. Gilbert, relieved to have found someone he knew, jogged forward, slowing down as he approached and gratefully stopping at Alfred’s side. Alfred stood a step above Gilbert, eyes shadowed with a hand as he scanned the mass of people, so Gilbert stood grinning, looking behind him at the figure in the center of the fountain, curious despite himself on who it was.

“It’s Lafayette,” Alfred’s voice said suddenly and Gilbert jumped at the sound. He ignored the comment, though, figuring that Alfred was talking to someone else. Though how and why someone would stop in the center of the Square during a celebration like this, Gilbert didn’t know. “Hey, you,” Alfred said louder, adding a sharp whistle to get someone’s attention. “You, with the white hair.”

What.

Wait, _what_.

Now Gilbert _did_ spin forward, staring wide-eyed up at Alfred, watching as his own blue eyes widened in shock at both Gilbert’s reaction and no doubt his own eyes.

_You can see me?_

Alfred hopped down from his neat little perch, one hand buried in his trouser pocket, his hips swaying from either the _need_ to move or the alcohol, while the other hand jerked a thumb in the direction of the station _talking straight at Gilbert_. “Lafayette. Marquis de Lafayette. Or, as we were taught, Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier. Patron saint or whatever of Lafayetteville, Virginia.”

“You can see me?” Gilbert demanded, ignoring the nice little tidbit in honor of the even nicer tidbit that their _soulmate could see them what the fuck happened how come this didn’t happen sooner?_

Alfred’s brow furrowed and _fuck_ that was an adorable expression especially given that he could finally see _him_ —or them, as Yao and Arthur ambled towards Gilbert, seeming entirely unaware that Alfred had caught Gilbert’s expression ( _shiiiiiiit_ ) and had followed it to reveal the other two fuckers who _didn’t notice that Alfred noticed them what the fuck?!_

“Tad ironic, innit?” Arthur asked, leaning an elbow against Gilbert’s shoulder, entirely overlooking the fact that their soulmate _could finally see them._ “I know the lad’s here, but still. Meeting by water? You hate water.”

“Y’all waitin for someone?” Alfred asked warily, opting to ignore Gilbert’s supposed stupid question. His wariness grew in leaps and bounds as the other two swung to make eye contact with a boy, who for the better part of less than a decade, _could not even see them_.

“You can see us?” Yao demanded, eyes wide as he ignored Alfred’s wariness and followed his step back with a step forward.

Alfred’s hands, raised previously in an ‘I’m unarmed’ style, now went up in exasperation, his face scrunching into an adorably irritable expression.  “I’m wearing glasses, okay? Evidently I’m not blind!”

While Yao and Gilbert studied Alfred with wide-eyed shock, Arthur decided to be a little shit and smirked, eyes dancing with mischief. “Maybe it’s not the glasses, yeah? Maybe it’s the alcohol you consumed before joining the party.”

Alfred’s eyes widened in shock, his ears going red (a nice reminder of the earlier conversation but he could totally see them _what the fuck_?!) as he stutter out a high-pitched, “I have no idea—how did you—why—“

Arthur sauntered forward and any other time Gilbert would have cracked a joke at the evident bob in Alfred’s throat as Arthur stepped closer, the ways his eyes followed every slow, deliberate move, but he and Yao were just standing there in astonishment as Alfred’s gaze _followed_ Arthur’s every step. 

Before Arthur could completely corner a very nervous looking Alfred, before Yao and Gilbert could decide to help either Alfred or Arthur, before any of them could even make any sort of smart ass comment, a blur of blue and purple barreled by them, slamming into Alfred and causing him to spin in spot. When they stilled, the three no-longer-invisible spectators watched as Lien, standing on her toes with her arms thrown around Alfred, stepped back, bouncing in place and beaming up at Alfred, her dark hair thrown into a messy bun. She reached for his hand and began dragging him away, seeming unaware of the way Alfred’s head was turned to look over his shoulder, staring at the three spectators— two still in a state of shock, one following the pair with a devious smirk.

“Donut Haven is giving away freshly baked donuts, and the Little Egg Café is giving out coffee!”

“M-my dad’s café’s also giving out freebies,” Alfred finally stuttered, turning away (much to the great annoyance of the three spectators) to voice his comment to his friend. Lien squealed in delight.

“Oooh! His Éclairs are amazing! Is he giving those away, too?”

The two continued speaking and were soon joined by the rest of the group, each announcing themselves with hoots of glee or a near tackling hug.

The spectators made to follow, more delighted now than ever considering that _their soulmate could definitely see them._

Unfortunately, as they stepped forward to follow the group into the ever-moving mass, they stepped instead into the familiar compound that was their very London flat.

Arthur swore, slamming the edge of his clenched fist into the wall, fortunately not leaving any marks.

“This is getting fucking ridiculous,” Yao grumbled as he, too, looked ready to hit something.

“How the fuck does this goddam soulmate shite work?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his hand that was no doubt inflamed in favor of pacing up and down the space between the door and the far window, slamming the side of his fist onto the kitchenette counter whenever he passed it. “This is getting ridiculous. He could finally see us this time and what does this damned system do? Tears us out when we finally see him, is what. Who the fucking hell is in charge of it?”

Gilbert groaned, collapsing in the single seater Laz-y-boy in front of the kitchenette area, running a hand through his hair. Suddenly, one of Alfred’s comments came to mind. Gilbert sat up straighter, earning the attention of Yao, though Arthur kept pacing, muttering obscenities. “The brat said something about a, ah, Lafayette? Lafayetteville or another. Something about Virginia.”

Yao stood up straighter, his dark eyes glittering now with what appeared to be excitement as he bypassed a still foully muttering Arthur in favor of reaching for his laptop, placed, as always, on the small table in the middle of a small sitting room. Sitting on his knees, Yao powered his laptop up and began a google search.

As the search continued, though, his glittering smile dimmed, replaced with a frown as he shoved the computer away with a look of annoyance. Both Gilbert and Arthur, now, watched him. “Not only are both cities in the state, they both share a lot of the same pointless facts and drivel: both are by the sea; both were hit hard with the last hurricane; both received foreign and domestic aid; both had a dramatic dip in popularity for their current president. Hell, both even have some of the same establishments mentioned by Lien.”

“Not to mention that Alfred and his friends could have just as well been anywhere in the state to watch the election—hell. Anywhere in the _country_ , really. Maybe Davie had family in a different city. A statue of Lafayette? Shit doesn’t mean much: he’s just about as famous as Washington and the lot of ‘em.”

“Tomorrow would be a school day for them, though,” Yao pointed out with a frown, leaning forward to broaden his search. “Missing a day of school for an election?”

Arthur shrugged and plopped down on the ground beside Yao, leaning back against the wall and squeezing his eyes shut. “The dork missed school for a meteor shower. _A meteor shower_.”

“In his defense, that _was_ very good,” Yao argued, still searching through the internet for any Easter eggs that could be of use to them. “Very interesting.”

“But it does say that Alfred would miss school for something that he found important,” Gilbert pointed out, glancing at the clock. It was getting late, about the time when he should be getting ready for work. Gilbert sighed and rose to his feet. Normally, he enjoyed his job immensely. However, given their latest encounter with their soulmate, not only was Gilbert now on edge, he also felt the encroachment of a familiar shadow known as doubt: even if they figured out where he was, what then? It wasn’t as if they’d could hop on a plane and just visit. Arthur made little to almost nothing between band gigs and being a bust boy; Yao would start paying off loans soon and was currently without a job; and Gilbert’s job, though highly enjoyable, paid just enough to keep them afloat in paying bills. The logistics of just _thinking about_ doing anything was enough to make Gilbert’s head spin.

Yao and Arthur, intent on whatever they found on the screen, glanced up as Gilbert stood, watching as he stretched. Yao glanced at his screen clock, which always ran five minutes fast, and nodded. “We’ll leave some food out,” he promised as Arthur leaned back against the wall, catching his eyes and smirking,

“We’ll tell you the election outcomes, yeah? Those’ll be entertaining.”

Gilbert snorted and made for their room, “Go fuck yourself.”

“Only for you love,” Arthur called in a voice that Gilbert knew well. He could practically picture the asshole throwing an arm over Yao’s shoulder and dragging him closer to his side. “Only for you.”


End file.
